Once Upon A Dime
by xstormqueenx
Summary: When Clara and her fellow LITs come across a book that brings fairytales to life, it's only to find their lives will depend on the flip of a coin. {And The Fables Of Doom, AU}.
1. Finders Keepers

**Author's Note:** This is the sequel to _Sure As Sin_ _._ The reading order so far for all of my Flynn/Clara fiction is: _And She Was Not An Adventure, Plato's Step-Daughter,_ _A Christmas Clara, Sure As Sin,_ and _Once Upon A Dime_. Each new Flynn/Clara story will include an updated reading order. All my Librarians fiction can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **Finders Keepers**

"Mine!" Ezekiel exclaimed, snatching up the dime from the floor.

"It's mine!" Clara protested. "I saw it first!"

"Finders keepers," Ezekiel smirked. "You snooze, you lose." At this, the clippings book clipped his ear, a habit Jenkins couldn't - and secretly wouldn't - break it of. As it did, Ezekiel dropped the dime, Clara chasing after it.

"Ha!" she declared, holding it aloft. "Behold my triumph!"

"Behold this!" Ezekiel bellowed, pulling out a sock puppet.

"No!" Clara screeched. Yesterday, the sock puppet had tried to strangle her with her own shoelace, before Cassandra had poured a glass of milk over her, breaking the spell. Jenkins classed the case as a curio, but Clara begged to differ, unable to look at a sock in the same way since.

"Give me the dime, Clara," Ezekiel intoned, advancing on her.

"Finders keepers," Clara said, trying to stand her ground.

"Finders keepers _first_ ," Ezekiel corrected her, "so hand it over, or the sock puppet sings."

"Are you threatening Hartley with a _sock_ , Jones?" Eve said, coming down the sweeping staircase. "If so, your standards are slipping."

"She stole my dime," Ezekiel argued, put out.

"Are _your_ standards slipping as well?" Eve aimed at Clara. "Shame on you."

"You're rather joyful this morning," Clara said curiously, slipping the dime into her dress pocket.

"I have a day off coming up," Eve said, leaning against Flynn's desk, ignoring its curses, "if that doesn't put a spring in my step, I don't know what will."

"We all have days off," Clara reminded her, knowing exactly how she was going to spend hers, finally having that _Merlin_ marathon, Flynn making an unwilling third, Clara oblivious to the torture she would be inflicting on him.

"Not here, we don't," Eve corrected her.

"As far I'm concerned, every day is a holiday," Ezekiel said with a grin.

"You can say that again," Clara snapped, "those bags of rubbish you were supposed to put out have evolved from a picturesque pile to a mountain!"

"I was wondering what that stench was," Jacob said, striding through the doorway, winking at Clara. But she turned away, still uncomfortable at the memory of kissing him, wondering if her heart had secretly turned traitor, remembering the words that fallen from her treacherous lips, _what_ _I should have done a long time ago_. Had it happened under the influence of magic, or was there a more prosaic reason at play?

"What's wrong with you?" Ezekiel asked her, frowning.

Clara just shook her head, wishing Ezekiel a thousand miles away.

"I don't want the dime back," he pressed, looking worried now. "I have enough lucre to live large."

But Clara just walked away, going out into the corridor instead, wrapping her arms around herself. She knew she was being stupid; that she should keep her cool, and act cool. But the memory of her and Jacob made her stomach churn, and even if Flynn appeared unaffected, Clara wasn't, going on a guilt trip like it was a honeymoon to Hawaii.

"Still upset over that lil smooch we shared back in Rome?" Jacob said, making her whirl around.

"Jake" - Clara began, only for words to fail her.

"Look, just let it go, Clara," Jacob said abruptly, advancing on her, "ever since that day, you've been jumpier than a cat on a hot tin roof" -

\- "Hey, you weren't Evil Clara, kissing and crippling everyone, whilst plotting to take down the world," Clara snapped, glancing up as Jenkins glided past, the perennial tea trolley trailing after him by magic. Jenkins was another thing keeping her up at night, Clara struggling to recall what had been said between them outside the Annex, instinctively knowing that it would explain his odd behaviour afterwards.

"That's precisely my point," Jacob said, folding his arms across his chest, "it wasn't you, so just forget about it. I know I have."

"Fine, it's forgotten," Clara said just as abruptly as him, both of them lying.

 _Band-aids don't fix bullet holes_ _  
_ _You say sorry just for show_ _  
_ _If you live like that, you live with ghosts…_


	2. Magic Versus The Mundane

**Magic Versus The Mundane**

"Lovers tiff?" Jenkins asked, raising an eyebrow as Jacob stalked back through the doorway, Clara following him, deliberately avoiding everyone's eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Jacob muttered, kicking a pillar, only for it to sprout a leg and kick him in return.

"And you more than deserved that," Jenkins muttered back. He'd astutely observed that Jacob appeared to admire Clara, if only from afar, watching her when he thought no-one else was looking. It was all done very discreetly, and apart from his outburst on the stairs just after he'd been enchanted by Circe, Jacob had given away nothing else of his true feelings. To the world, his initial infatuation with Clara had apparently faded into a strange sort of comradeship composed of friendship and froideur, Clara turning on Jacob at the slightest thing, before throwing herself into his arms the next. But all the while, a storm had been stirring, and Jenkins was just waiting for it to finally hit.

"Ta-da!" Cassandra said, suddenly bursting through the back door.

"What the" -

\- "I know," Cassandra said, cutting Eve off, "but it's worth it!"

"What was worth what?" Ezekiel asked, brow furrowing.

"A free pass," Cassandra said cryptically, handing a brown paper package over to Jenkins.

"What, through the back door?" Clara said, curiosity caught despite herself.

"In exchange for a knitted jumper and matching tea-cosy," Cassandra beamed. "I made them myself, with a little teacup motif on the cuffs and collar."

"You bribed Jenkins?" Ezekiel said, nodding approvingly. "Nice one."

"For a whole month, I get to avoid the perils of public transport," Cassandra said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Just travelling straight from the shower to here, with no traffic jams inbetween."

"She's your favourite, isn't she?" Eve said, turning to Jenkins.

"Yes," Jenkins said abruptly. "She possesses a modicum of intelligence the rest of you rather lack."

"Arghh!" Ezekiel suddenly exclaimed, as the clippings book swooped over him, making him throw his arms over his head. "Why does it keep dive-bombing me!?" he whined, ducking behind a bookcase.

"It's good for its digestion," Jenkins said dourly, just as the clippings book burped on cue, showering them with scraps of paper.

"Local beauty queen chokes to death on a piece of apple," Clara read out, frowning.

"Giant pumpkin wins prize," Cassandra said, flicking through fragments, "three bears terrorize local town, Prom King loses Prom Queen at midnight" -

"Traffic crash on bridge in Bremen?" Jacob said in disbelief.

"Magic versus the mundane," Jenkins said, rolling his eyes.

* * *

Clara tottered out of the toilet, feeling like she was going to throw up, only to find herself on a porch. As the others joined her, staggering and stumbling, clamping their noses, Ezekiel looking rather green, Clara glanced around her, confused. It wasn't the first time Clara been magically deposited in a public toilet, but it had at least been clean. This toilet, more hut than anything else, was a blot on the existence of all things toiletry. The stench alone was enough to knock out an elephant.

"Pass me my smelling salts," Ezekiel moaned, slumping against the railing.

"We're in the middle of nowhere," Cassandra observed, observing the wide expanse of mountains and lake surrounding them.

"Welcome to my world," Jacob said, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Small town America."

Clara glanced at him, not missing the bitter note in his voice.

"What are you looking at?" Jacob snapped.

"Not you, that's for sure," Clara snapped back.

"Can it, kids," Eve admonished. "Sheriff Hiyer," she then called over to a police officer, his tall stature and crisp black uniform making him stand out from the small crowd milling by the lakeside.

"It's actually Heyer," he said, startling Eve, "like HEY-ER!" He yelled the last, making everyone wince.

"You've just killed my ear-drums, mate," Ezekiel said, eyes narrowing.

"Hi, I'm Eve Baird," Eve said hastily, stepping in front of Ezekiel, offering the sheriff her hand, "we spoke on the phone."

"Right," Sheriff Heyer said, frowning. "Um, sorry," he said, scratching his head, "but who are you again?" He glanced at the group in front of him, not missing the disparate differences between them all, Ezekiel with his back to front skip-hat, Clara coiffured and disdainful like a duchess, Jacob all faded jeans and checked shirt, Eve immaculate and intimidating.

"We're - uh - from the Metropolitan Library," Jacob interjected, seeing Eve at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

Sheriff Heyer just studied Jacob suspiciously, brow furrowing even further.

"We're conducting a traffic flow study," Clara said imperiously, stepping forwards, "collating accident reports and statistical surveys regarding the impact of vehicular transportation on rural areas."

"Well - well, there's no traffic flow issue," Sheriff Heyer stuttered, Clara's imposing air intimidating him into acceptance.

"What about the accident on the bridge though?" Clara asked, folding her arms across her chest.

"Just a case of bad driving," Sheriff Heyer said nervously, "it was dark and _boom_ , he was in the water. Darn lucky he lived to tell the tale."

"To tell the tale..." Cassandra murmured, making them all glance at her.

"Like I said," Sheriff Heyer continued, clearing his throat, "just bad driving. One-off, y'know?"

"A _quaint_ explanation for a _quaint_ place," Clara said sarcastically. "How... quaint."

"What exactly do you mean by 'quaint', missie?" Sheriff Heyer said, resting his hands on his skinny hips.

"Shall I enlighten you?" Clara said nastily, not seeing the danger signs, "it means, small, boring, narrow-minded, rather like Jacob here, our resident boy from the backwoods, fresh off the farm, a cut-price Clint Eastwood" -

\- "Whoa, calm down Clara," Eve intervened as Jacob stared at Clara, startled by her venom, "we don't want to start a witch-hunt, do we?"

 _Quick to judge_ _  
_ _Quick to anger_ _  
_ _Slow to understand_ _  
_ _Ignorance and prejudice_ _  
_ _And fear walk hand in hand..._

* * *

"Guys, there's a pattern," Cassandra said, studying the crashed truck.

"What do you mean a pattern?" Eve asked urgently, beckoning the others over.

"It's... waves," Cassandra said, brow furrowing.

"Don't use that word in my presence!" Clara spat, making everyone whirl around, only to see she was a good fifteen feet away from them.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing over there!?" Eve said, starting to get annoyed now.

"I'm scared of the... thing," Clara said, gesturing to the lake.

"The thing?" Eve asked, raising her eyebrows.

"What thing?" Ezekiel said, confused.

"Don't make me say it!" Clara snapped, startling them for a second time.

"Just ignore her," Jacob said, turning his back on her. "She's still stewing."

"I'll stew you, little man," Clara retorted, "I'll break your bones and boil them into broth" -

\- "Yeah, yeah," Jacob said, rolling his eyes. "Tell me something new."

"You were saying something about a pattern?" Eve said, turning back to Cassandra, not in the mood for mediating.

"Waves of grain, waves of cereal, Weetabix," Cassandra mused, her mind wandering to her bowl of Weetabix that morning. Clara had introduced her to that particular delicacy, and Cassandra was addicted.

"Cassandra?" Eve said, interrupting her thoughts.

"Sorry," Cassandra said, shaking herself back to semblance, "I need to..." She hesitated before snatching up a fire extinguisher. Before anybody could stop her, she was blasting the truck window, throwing into relief what looked like a giant thumb-print. "Waves," Cassandra beamed, setting the fire extinguisher down on the grass.

"Don't use that word!" Clara shrieked.


	3. It's Not Salem, Sweetheart

**It's Not Salem, Sweetheart**

 _You search the hills, swift and true_ _  
_ _Look outside yourself, for it cannot be you_ _  
_ _The town gathers and slander ensues_ _  
_ _Not long 'til she's cursed, not long 'til she's through…_

"It might be a troll," Jenkins said, brow furrowing.

"A troll?" Eve said in disbelief.

"Yes, a troll," Jenkins said impatiently.

"Somebody switch him off," Clara said, gesturing to Eve's iPad which they were gathered around, holding an emergency meeting with Jenkins.

"Why don't you switch yourself off?" Jacob said, rounding on her. "I'm sick of listening to your slurs!"

"Slur's a rather cosmopolitan word for a rustic like you to use," Clara drawled.

"There's a troll, and they're trolling each other," Ezekiel announced to nobody in particular. "I love it!"

"Trolls aren't indigenous to the Pacific North-West," Jenkins continued, unperturbed, "but with the return of magic to the world, all sorts of odd things are waking up, _and_ if indeed it is a troll, it's not been nice knowing you, per se."

"My kind of man," Clara smirked, blowing Jenkins a kiss.

"Is evil Clara coming back?" Cassandra asked nervously.

"No, it's just that time of the month," Jacob sneered.

"Need me to lend you a tampon?" Clara retorted.

"Your coven called, they want you back," Jacob spat.

"It's not Salem, sweetheart," Clara snapped, "so put the pointy hat away."

"How do we fight a troll anyways?" Ezekiel interrupted, plonking himself in front of the screen.

"You don't," Jenkins warned, "you flee."

"Not my style," Eve said abruptly.

* * *

"Bus buddies forever!" Ezekiel said, fist-bumping Clara, who turned her nose up in the air. Eve had paired up Ezekiel with Clara, whilst teaming Jacob with Cassandra, effectively separating Jacob and Clara, unable to bear anymore of their bitching. Whilst Jacob and Cassandra did some investigating around the town, Eve had gone to study the security surveillance footage of the crash, to turn up any other further clues. As for Ezekiel and Clara, she'd told them to stay out of trouble, only for them to go walking straight into it.

"I am not going to be your bus buddy," Clara said primly, "because a), you'd bring down my social standing, and b), there's no buses to be had here for love or money."

"We could rustle up one from somewhere," Ezekiel said, shrugging his shoulders, "maybe even steal one, like you stole my dime."

"I didn't steal your dime," Clara snapped, losing her airs and graces.

"It's in your pocket," Ezekiel said, pointing to her aforementioned pocket, "calling for help, for someone to dial 911" -

\- "999 actually" -

\- "It's begging me to save it, crying because you kidnapped it" -

\- "It's not a talking dime," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"I'd rather a talking dollar," Ezekiel said, sighing heavily. "Get more value for my money then."

"Hmmm," Clara said, rubbing the edge of her nose.

"Tree, tree, tree," Ezekiel started to sing, whirling around, arms outstretched.

"Are you turning into Julie Andrews?" Clara spat.

"Treeeeeeeee," Ezekiel trilled, "tree, tree, tree - troll!"

"Troll?" Clara squeaked.

"It's okay," Ezekiel assured her with a beatific smile, "it's asleep."

"Daylight subdues trolls," Clara remembered from far away, brow furrowing, recalling a battered book of fairy-tales from her childhood.

"How delightful," Ezekiel said, twirling on the spot.

* * *

Ezekiel and Clara made their way down the sidewalk, Ezekiel brandishing a broken umbrella, Clara a broom, making people cross the street to avoid them. Eve, Jacob and Cassandra were gathered in a huddle outside a _Dollar General_ store, poring over some pictures taken from the security surveillance footage. "Small car, medium car, big truck, bridge," Jacob muttered, "small, medium, big - and a bridge. Why does that sound familiar?" he said, glancing up at the others.

"Charming morning, isn't it?" Ezekiel called over to them, making them whirl around.

"It's the worst morning in existence," Clara snapped, looking like she was going to snap her broom in two.

"And what the hell happened to you two?" Eve asked, slightly taken aback.

"We stumbled across a troll and a garage sale," Ezekiel explained, holding out his umbrella, "where there were plenty of bargains to be had, including this irresistible little umbrella."

"He actually _paid_ for it," Clara cackled. "Can you imagine it!? Ezekiel spending as opposed to stealing!"

"Wait, did you just say troll?" Cassandra said, exchanging a glance with Jacob.

"Get with the programme, Ginger," Clara spat. "You're holding up the line."

"Hey, don't take your crap out on Cassie," Jacob flared up, stepping in front of Cassandra, "don't hurt her to hurt me."

"What, you got her on the go as well?" Clara parried, shocking everyone.

Before anybody could say anything, a fat naked man jogged past them, hailing them with a good morning. Sheriff Heyer came running out of the library opposite, followed by his deputy, faces perspiring, guns at the ready. "Wolf at twelve o'clock," the sheriff shouted, only to do a double-take at the naked man, "and what the hell are you doing in your birthday suit!?" he exclaimed, making the man stumble to a stop, startled.

"I'm taking my early morning constitutional," the man said loftily, "as mayor of this fine town, I'm permitted to pound its streets" -

\- "Never mind that," Sheriff Heyer snapped, "I've got a wolf to deal with!" And with that, he took off, his deputy hard on his heels. Eve and the others followed them, Ezekiel by flying umbrella, Clara by broomstick, hovering above the sidewalk at great speed. They all skidded to a stop at the sight of a giant wolf clad in a pink frilly nightcap stalking down the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians to the wind, the cops raising their guns, only to find they'd turned into bananas. Before they could blink, the wolf had pounced on a woman, her scream slicing through the air, Jacob moving at lightning speed, snatching up an axe from a nearby fire truck, and hurling it at the wolf, killing it stone-dead, Ezekiel and Clara flying into the fray, the former singing, the latter cackling.

"Okay, I _really_ need to sit down," Eve said, slumping against an obliging wall.


	4. Libris Fabula

**Libris Fabula**

' _Cause I don't care for your fairytales_  
 _You're so worried about the maiden though you know_  
 _She's only waiting on the next best thing…_

"Fairytales are coming to life?" Eve said, pacing the Annex floor.

"Yes," Jenkins said dourly, "and your skin's taking on a greenish hue," he fired at Clara, who just glared at him, still clutching her broomstick. "But why should I be surprised?" he added in an undertone, repressing a sigh.

"The news cuttings from the clippings book," Cassandra said suddenly, startling them all, "they were all fairytales - Snow White, the Three Bears, the pumpkin from Cinderella" -

\- "Cinderella itself," Jacob jumped in, "the three Billy Goats Gruff, Red Riding Hood" -

\- "And the Emperor's New Clothes," Eve interjected, only for Jenkins to hold up his hand, halting her.

"You _need_ to find out what or who is causing this," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "whilst you still have time."

"What do you mean while we still have time?" Jacob said, frowning.

"You're all infected," Jenkins said simply, "though some are showing symptoms sooner than others," he added, glancing at Ezekiel who was now smelling a rose, his eyes closed in a state of beatific bliss.

"What, we're going to turn into fairytale characters?" Eve exclaimed in disbelief.

"I don't know what he is," Jenkins said, gesturing to Ezekiel, "but Clara's turning into a witch, and Jacob's the Huntsman. As for the rest of you, who knows? That's why you have to find out," he said, clapping his hands, making the blackboard behind him fill with flowing handwriting, "and sooner rather than later."

"How soon?" Cassandra asked.

"Very soon," Jenkins said.

"Can that very long list help us by any chance?" Cassandra pressed, peering over his shoulder.

"These are magical items, curses and paradoxes that could possibly cause fairytales to come true and attack," Jenkins said, turning to the blackboard, "but most of them are not the answer we are seeking - the Spear of Destiny, Blackboard's Chest, the Tree of Confucius" -

\- "Treeeee!" Ezekiel trilled again.

\- "The Goose with the Golden Eggs," Jenkins continued, glaring at Ezekiel, "the Trident of Poseidon, the Golden Fish Scale, Lantern of Diogenes, The Singing Sword of Conmre Mer, Homer's Sandal, The Tell-Tale Heart, John Henry's Hammer, Aztec Smoking Mirror, Fenrir's Chain, Mother Goose's Treaty, Re-animation Elixir, Book of Thoth, Loki's Spear, Tesla's Death-Ray, Pipes of Pan" -

\- "You said we didn't have time," Eve reminded him.

"No, I said you _did_ ," Jenkins corrected her, "as in you _do_."

"Get to the point, Gandalf," Clara snarled.

"If we cross off all the artifacts stored in the Library," Jenkins said, clapping his hands together, causing chalk crosses to appear on the board, scoring out his words, "since being untethered from this reality makes accessing them rather difficult, and as there's been no report of fire or flood in the area, we can cross off even more," he said, clapping his hands again, "as these are displays of nature's power. Plus Immortals prefer Europe this time of the year" -

\- "It's the Libris Fabula!" Ezekiel squawked, startling everyone again.

"Would you stop using these idiots as your instrument!?" Jenkins shouted up at the ceiling.

"So it's not Mother Goose's Treaty?" Cassandra said quickly, exchanging a glance with Eve.

"Yes," Jenkins said, spreading his hands wide, "they never did forgive Beatrix Potter for re-writing that bloody history."


	5. Somewhere South Of Mary Berry

**Somewhere South Of Mary Berry**

"You're growing a wart on the end of your nose, Clara," Cassandra said with some alarm.

But Clara just cackled, non-perturbed.

"If only Flynn could see his Hartley now," Jacob said, rubbing his hands together with glee. "That pretty face ain't so pretty anymore."

"Don't," Cassandra said, as Eve restrained Ezekiel from flying away again, "you're meant to be nice."

"If you want nice, look up Jones," Jacob said pettishly, "he's somewhere east of Julie Andrews and south of Mary Berry."

"He is a bit... twee," Cassandra said carefully, eying Ezekiel's flowery bonnet.

"I know," Jacob agreed wholeheartedly, "I wish he would rustle up some hot chocolate and cookies like he did last time."

"Don't forget the cinnamon sticks," Cassandra reprimanded.

But as she said this, Jacob's head shot up, nose twitching, nostrils flaring. "I smell a dead wolf," he said, baring his teeth like fangs, "and all the better to hear you with!" he bellowed, rounding on a girl that had crept up behind them.

"Save me!" the girl screamed, casting herself into Cassandra's arms.

"Nice jacket," Ezekiel beamed, as he glided past, Eve clinging to the back of his jacket, wearing a martyred expression.

"It makes your thighs look fat," Clara cackled from overhead, now greener than the Incredible Hulk.

Cassandra glanced down at herself, the girl gazing at her in adoration as she did. She saw with some amazement she was now clad in an old-fashioned crimson velvet peacoat, with flowing ruffles on the cuffs and collar, and elaborate epaulettes everywhere else, instantly making her stand up straighter.

"You're _infected_ ," Jacob said, eyes becoming wide with wonder.

"I'm _enhanced_ ," Cassandra said, throwing back her head.

"You're my hero," the girl gushed, before fainting, Clara pelting her with eggs from above.

* * *

"I'm the last man standing," Eve said in disbelief as Ezekiel sang a lullaby to a pot plant, his voice reminiscent of Julie Andrews at her worst. Clara was now almost unrecognizable, her nose large and hooked, her head bald and grotesquely bulbous, fingers long and clawlike, whilst Cassandra held court as a large crowd of swooning girls swarmed around her, acting as if One Direction had come to town.

"I want that wolf on my wall, Baird," Jacob said, sniffing the air.

"All of it?" Eve said sarcastically.

"Of course all of it!" Jacob snapped. "Trophy collecting isn't a tea-party, princess!"

"Don't!" Eve cried, clutching her head, but she was too late. Her usual hairstyle of scraped back blonde hair had been replaced by flowing golden locks. "What have you done to me!" she shrieked, shoving Jacob in the chest, making him stagger back.

"I ain't done nothin'!" Jacob said, his head whipping round, nostrils flaring again. "It's in there," he said, pointing at a nearby bar. "Let's get that goddamn wolf!"

"Anything for my hero," Eve simpered, batting her eyelashes together.

"Anything for our hero," the crowd of girls echoed, batting their eyes at Cassandra.

"I need you, Cass," Jacob said, grabbing her shoulder.

"Do not besmirch the coat," Cassandra said coolly, prising his fingers from the fabric. "And call me Charming." At this, the crowd of girls swooned again.

"Come on then, Charming," Jacob said, rolling his eyes, "I need you and Blondie here to create a distraction so I can get that wolf out."

Cassandra just raised an eyebrow, but she obliged him all the same, signalling for the girls to stay put. She looped Eve's arm through hers, the pair of them sauntering into the bar, making heads turn as Jacob sidled into the kitchen, whistling 'The Teddy Bears Picnic" under his breath. As they executed their plans, Clara flew overhead, hairy nostrils twitching, smelling children, her stomach rumbling.

"What you doing, Clara?" Ezekiel chirped, gliding along beside her.

"Hunting," Clara snapped, surveying the mountainous landscape.

"Why don't you just buy a delightful do-nut with that even more delightful dime I gave you?" Ezekiel smiled, waving to a passing cloud.

"Hooligan!" Clara screeched, circling him.

"I think it looks like rain," Ezekiel said, frowning. At this, Clara let out a scream, kicking her broomstick into gear, aiming for the earth again. Ezekiel followed her, before becoming distracted by a flock of butterflies the size of cart-horses, hope rising in his heart. "Let me join you!" he begged them. "I'm not made for this harsh world!" But they continued their journey, oblivious to his agony.

* * *

Clara's spindly heels made contact with the sidewalk, her bald head glinting in the sunlight. It didn't look like rain from where she was standing, but a witch couldn't take any chances. Jacob came to a halt in front of her, sweat beading his brow, face exhausted. At his feet lay the carcass of the giant wolf, its pink frilly nightcap askew, ribbons unravelling.

Elsewhere, in another dimension, Flynn was about to be beheaded, but whilst he waited for death, he thought it expedient to call his Clara, maybe share a little heart to heart with his Hartley. "Mon amour," Flynn purred down the line, eying the executioner with an expert eye.

"Would you take your booty call elsewhere please?" Jenkins said irritably, slamming down his tea-cup. "I need to speak to Clara."

"But _I'm_ calling Clara!" Flynn protested.

"I can't get through to any of the others," Jenkins snapped, "Clara's my last chance!"

Pouting, Flynn cut the call, before making his escape by flying elephant. Back in this dimension, Clara's mobile started trilling 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow', making her fall to her knees, hands clamped over her ears. "Make it stop!" she screamed, collapsing in a writhing heap of black rags.

Rolling his eyes, Jacob stooped down, gingerly taking her mobile out of her pocket, raising an eyebrow at the mini devil's horns decorating it. "Hello?" he said, wrinkling his brow. "Jake here, who's callin'?"

"It's me, you oaf!" Jenkins bellowed. "You need to get that wolf!"

"Consider it done," Jacob said, glancing at his prize.

"What, you have it?"

"Yup."

"You need to cut it open," Jenkins said urgently.

"What!?" Jacob exclaimed. "I ain't doin' that! That baby's goin' on my wall!"

"You need to excavate its stomach," Jenkins snapped, "examine the contents of its last meal. There may be a slight chance they're still alive."

"What's still alive?" Jacob said stupidly.

"Its last meal!" Jenkins said, snatching up his jacket. "Now get to it!" And with that, he hung up, heading for the back door.

Jacob stared at the phone, before throwing it aside. Exhaling sharply, he knelt down, drawing out a large Bowie knife that didn't belong to him, only appearing into existence at his touch, before expertly slicing the wolf's underside open, only for a young woman in a red dress to roll out onto the pavement, coughing and spluttering, covered in intestinal juices. "Whoa," Jake said, taking a step back, "I was not expecting that."

"You should have been," Clara snarled, "this is your story, not mine."

 _All of these lines across my face_ _  
_ _Tell you the story of who I am_ _  
_ _So many stories of where I've been_ _  
_ _And how I got to where I am…_


	6. Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum

**Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum**

"Step aside inferior beings," Jenkins said, appearing out of thin air. "I want to see the evidence firsthand."

As Jacob helped the young woman to her feet, Clara furtively searching her pockets for some rotting eggs, Jenkins knelt down beside the dead wolf, holding his hanky up to his nose, examining its millinery. "It's part of its anatomy," he observed, tugging on its nightcap, trying and failing to remove it.

"And that helps us how?" Jacob said, raising his eyebrows.

"It doesn't," Jenkins said simply, getting to his feet, "and put that poultry away," he fired at Clara, just as the eggs exploded into squawking chickens. Clara folded her arms across her chest as they flew away, Jenkins surveying her with some disgust. "You've really let yourself go, haven't you?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

"So have you," Clara spat. "You're hardly a silver fox, are you?"

Jenkins just ignored her. "For God's sake, put it away," he snapped as Jacob stripped to the waist, draping his checked shirt over the girl's shoulders.

"My hero," the girl said, teeth chattering.

"It's no biggie," Jacob said mock bashfully, sensing another conquest.

But the girl ignored him, rushing forwards, throwing herself into Cassandra's arms instead, Eve sashaying over to the others. "Helllllo," Eve trilled upon seeing Jenkins. "How lovely your suit looks today."

"Is she turning into Ezekiel?" Jenkins fired at Jacob, but Jacob wasn't listening.

"It was me that saved you," Jacob was arguing as the girl nuzzled her head against Cassandra's sleeve. "Not her!"

"Can I have your number pretty please?" the girl asked Cassandra, turning puppy-dog eyes on her. "Just in case my life needs rescuing again."

"But I did the rescuing!" Jacob exclaimed in disbelief.

"Hey, that's my wolf!" the barman yelled, coming across the road, Sheriff Heyer and his deputy following him, hard on his heels.

"Can I help you fine gentlemen?" Jenkins said, folding his hands together, doing a rapid headcount, only to find he was one Librarian down, Ezekiel nowhere to be seen.

"Billy here reported a theft," Sheriff Heyer said abruptly, brandishing his banana at Jenkins, "and it looks like we found our thieves!"

"It was Jacob who did the stealing," Cassandra said loftily, summoning her crowd of admirers forwards, "me and Eve merely distracted you with our fine physiques and overwhelming beauty."

"I think it's time we left Toy-Town, troops," Jenkins said, searching the sky for Ezekiel, starting to sweat slightly.

"Toy-Town!?" Sheriff Heyer snapped, stepping forwards, suddenly seeming to loom.

"We don't want any trouble," Jenkins said, struggling to keep calm.

"You _smell_ like trouble, Grand-dad," Sheriff Heyer hissed, sniffing Jenkins from top to toe.

"Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum," Jenkins breathed, all the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

"Come out to play, kiddiewinks!" Clara suddenly cackled from overhead, making everybody look up. "It's almost tea-time!" And with that, she shot off out of sight, heading in the direction of the children's hospital.

 _Fee! Fie! Foe! Fum!_ _  
I smell the blood of an Englishman  
Be he 'live, or be he dead  
I'll grind his bones to make my bread…_


	7. Charon Doesn't Give Change

**Charon Doesn't Give Change**

" _Cool._ "

Clara whirled around, half hunched, hands half raised, ready to turn somebody into a toad. But all she seen was a little girl in a hospital bed, the bed cover pulled up to her chin, hooked up to a ventilator that Clara instantly cowered away from. Witches were afraid of technology, and none more so than Clara. Only water could eclipse this particular terror. But even as Clara was scared, she was also hungry, ravenous in fact. Yet the little girl would be nothing more than a mouthful, making Clara wonder if it would really be worth the effort.

"Did you really fly through that window," the little girl croaked, "or are you some divine deathbed vision?"

"I'm no hallucination," Clara spat, insulted.

"I hoped you weren't," the little girl said fervently. "I've always wanted to see a witch."

"It'll be the last thing you'll ever see," Clara said, advancing on her.

"I know," the little girl said, coughing into her hand, "I'm dying by inches, and I think I'm down to the last few."

"Well, I prefer my food fresh," Clara said nastily, clawing the air with her claws. "You're almost past your sell-by date."

"Tell me about it," the girl said, coughing again.

At this, Clara hesitated, not quite sure what to do next. This wasn't how the hunt usually went. She didn't really converse with the first course.

"So you're really a witch?" the little girl asked, trying and failing to sit up.

Clara nodded, clutching her broomstick for support.

"Can you do magic?" the little girl pressed.

Clara flicked her fingers, making the curtains come to life, launching into 'Ave Maria'.

" _Awesome_ ," the little girl breathed as Clara then silenced the curtains. "I love fairytales," she continued, eyes wistful, "magic and things like that. I think they're _amazing_."

"So what... what's wrong with you?" Clara asked with some difficulty, struggling between being starving and sorry for the little girl.

"I collapsed during story-time in the library," the little girl said, wincing a little, "and I woke up in here. This is my home now."

"And you're really dying?" Clara pressed this time.

The little girl nodded.

"Well... you need something to pay the fare then," Clara said, fumbling in her pocket, "Charon doesn't give change." At this, she pulled out the dime she and Ezekiel had been fighting over what seemed like a life-time ago, handing it to the little girl, who took it, becoming wide-eyed with wonder as she studied the coin from all angles. And with that, Clara was gone, the curtains fluttering in her wake.

* * *

 _And now people talk to me I'm slipping out of reach now_ _  
_ _People talk to me, and all their faces blur_ _  
_ _But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison_ _  
_ _And I'm locking up everyone who ever laid a finger on me…_

Clara strode through the hospital doors, hunger drawing her back, forcing her to stop mid-flight and return. The smell was too much to resist, overcoming all reason. The children were like chocolates in a box, Clara not sure which one to pick first. But as she headed for the lifts, oblivious to the stares and screams following in her wake, her attention was caught by Jenkins standing in front of a vending machine, brow furrowing as he contemplated which button to select first.

At the click of her spindly heels, Jenkins turned around, raising an eyebrow at her altered appearance. During his absence, her nose had grown, now resembling a twisted tree branch, several more warts springing up over her pockmarked face. She was more hunched over than ever, her fingers gnarled, her long nails as sharp as knives. There was nothing left of the old Clara, an omen for the future, the magic of the Libris Fabula spreading until the world was no more.

"I adore vending machines," Jenkins said lightly, tapping the glass, "they're like... miniature apartment buildings. If you hit the right numbers, the occupant of your choice leaps to his death!"

"You don't get out much, do you?" Clara spat, advancing on him.

"Not if I had a face like yours," Jenkins retorted. "You're a walking horror film."

"I'm _starving_ ," Clara growled, whirling round as a teenage boy loped past, Jenkins hastily grabbing the back of her cloak.

"I need your help," he said abruptly, catching her attention, "Ezekiel's gone AWOL, and the others are in La-La Land. You are the only Librarian left."

"I'm a witch, not a Librarian," Clara snarled, brandishing her broomstick at him.

"Why are you still hungry?" Jenkins snapped. "If you were really half the witch you pretend to be, half the children of this town would be dead by now! Underneath all the warts and wickedness, you're still Clara Hartley, that stuck up little snob who's got her claws in Flynn Carsen."

Clara shifted from one foot to the next, unsure now.

"Cassandra might be the smartest, but you're the _strongest_ ," Jenkins pressed, grabbing her shoulders, resisting the urge to rattle her back into being, "stronger than Jacob and Eve even. Sometimes... sometimes I think the Library might have made a mistake. You're more Guardian material than anything else. But it was the Library's choice, not mine. Yet that is neither here or now. We need to find the Libris Fabula, or this world will be no more."

* * *

"In here," Jenkins hissed, dragging Clara behind some dumpsters.

"I'm _ravenous_ ," Clara almost wept, the smell almost driving her insane.

"Here," Jenkins said, hurriedly handing her a wooden clothes-peg.

Clara just stared at it, looking at Jenkins as though he'd sprung another head.

"Wait, it's too small," Jenkins said, brow furrowing. As he thought, the clothes-peg trebled in size. "Here," he said, shoving it into her twisted hands.

Clara pulled a grotesque face that only served to make her even more grotesque. But she donned the clothes-peg, gaining some instant relief from the smell. "Whaths our nexth movthe?" she asked, making Jenkins glance sharply at her.

"First we have to find the Libris Fabula," he said briskly, taking heart he had Hartley back, "as long as that book is being read, stories will keep coming to life. In the beginning, it's only the stories in the book that come alive, then later as the book gains power, these stories can be changed, with new ones added, rewriting reality as we know it" -

\- "Reality being a shared narrative we choose to believe," Flynn said, making Jenkins's head jerk up.

"You!" Jenkins exclaimed.

"And who is this charming maiden?" Flynn said silkily, raising a seductive eyebrow at Clara.

"You really don't want to know," Jenkins said hastily.

"I think I do," Flynn drawled, pressing his lips to Clara's palm.

Before Jenkins could frame an answer to this, a loud harrumph in his ear made him jump violently. "What in the name of all that is holy is" - Jenkins began, only for words to fail him as he was confronted by the sight of a giant electric blue elephant. "First cross-dressing wolves, now this," he muttered, smoothing back his silver hair, "what is the world coming to?"

"To an end?" Flynn suggested helpfully.


	8. Ups-A-Daisy Alfred

**Ups-A-Daisy Alfred**

Clara, Jenkins and Flynn crept out of the alleyway, only for Sheriff Heyer to appear out of nowhere, at least twice the size he'd been before, almost blotting out the sun. He loomed over them, Jenkins swallowing hard, not wanting to be sniffed from top to toe again. Sheriff Heyer took a step forwards, making the ground shake, his eyes flickering red. "Didn't I say you smelled like trouble, Grand-dad?" he growled, nostrils twitching.

"I like your sideburns," Flynn observed, eying them with approval.

"You were in my daughter's hospital room," Sheriff Heyer snarled, rounding on Clara. "I could smell you half-way across town!" His fists clenched threateningly, making Clara gnash her rotting teeth at him.

"I think we should all calm down," Jenkins said, straightening his tie. "Maybe have a nice cup of tea" -

\- "That thing should be on a leash!" Sheriff Heyer bellowed, jabbing a too long finger at Flynn's elephant.

"Down Deliliah," Flynn warned the elephant, who was about to pounce, incensed at the insult.

"It's an elephant, not a dog," Jenkins said, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever you are, we don't tolerate your type around here," Sheriff Heyer hissed, advancing on them. "So I suggest you make like a tree and leave" -

\- "Treeeeeeee!" Ezekiel trilled from overhead, gliding past as graceful as a swan.

"What are you going to do if we don't?" Jenkins asked, brow furrowing as Flynn wandered over to a nearby shop window, studying his reflection critically.

"I'll grind your bones to make my bread **,** " Sheriff Heyer said through gritted teeth, "that's what I'll do."

"Am I the fairest of them all?" Flynn pondered, examining his craggy face from all angles.

Jenkins just buried his face in his hands, unable to take anymore. As he did, Eve sashayed down the sidewalk towards them, trilling like a lark, her golden hair falling to her waist, bluebirds carrying the train of her dress like a bunch of over enthusiastic bridesmaids. Then Cassandra came marching round the corner, a crowd of girls swooning at her heels, the sun glinting off her red hair like a helmet, Jacob bringing up the rear, brandishing an axe.

"What have you done to my Librarians!?" Jenkins exclaimed to the sky, falling to his knees.

* * *

"Ups-a-daisy, Alfred," Jacob snapped, hauling Jenkins to his feet.

"Don't be frightened," Cassandra soothed him, "I'll be your guiding light." At this, her audience almost fainted, fanning themselves frantically with their hands.

Jenkins just glanced around him, Eve offering a sickening simper, making his stomach turn. But as his gaze fell on Jacob, he did a double-take. "You've got bird on you," he said, taking a step back.

Jacob glanced down at himself, only to see an owl perched on his arm. "Yeah," he said gruffly, eyes narrowing, staring moodily into the distance, before catching himself in time. "You have to do something, man," he fired at Jenkins, startling him. "This is getting beyond a joke. Next I'll be doing perfume adverts."

"Jacob?" Jenkins said in disbelief, hope seizing his heart. "Not the Huntsman?"

"Yeah, it's me," Jacob said irritably, "sort of," he hastily amended, "not that there was much difference between me and the Huntsman to begin with, but I'm not sure about the others. Eve's gone all Stepford Wives, and Cassandra's become sort of chick magnet, Ezekiel Julie Andrews on speed" -

\- "Flynn's infected as well," Jenkins said, gesturing to Flynn who was now bemoaning his crows-feet to a confused Sheriff Heyer. "Apart from you, Clara is the only other one still sort of in there," he continued, making her glance up at him, the movement swift and birdlike, confirming the truth of his words, "but we are truly up a paddle without a creek," he finished, wringing his hands.

"How come you're still standing?" Jacob asked suspiciously, fighting the urge to chop up some firewood.

Jenkins just shook his head, figuring that would be a story for another day.

"And where did Carsen come from anyways?" Jacob asked bewildered. "And the electric blue elephant? Should we be expecting Archie any time soon?"

"Where Hartley goes, Flynn follows," Jenkins said, exhaling sharply, "bringing madness in their wake."

"Enough with the elegies, Alfred," Clara croaked, making Jacob's head snap up, "unless you want a spell of death, dismemberment, or a hundred year coma, I suggest you stop standing there like you're working up the courage to ask me to dance!"

Jacob stared at her for several seconds, a grin slowly spreading itself across his face. "Come 'ere, you," he said, grabbing Clara into a huge bear hug, before giving her bald head an affectionate noogie.

"Oh joy, the dream team are back," Jenkins said rolling his eyes.

 _And we'll never be royals  
It don't run in our blood  
That kind of luxe just ain't for us  
We crave a different kind of buzz…_

* * *

Leaving the others to their own insanity, Clara had led Jenkins and Jacob back to the hospital, something about the little girl there niggling what was left of her. Inbetween cackling at the moon now battling the sun for dominion in the sky, and swapping life-stories with a black cat, Clara had recounted her conversation with the little girl, Jenkins pouncing on the part about the little girl collapsing at story-time in the library.

"The book's only limit to bring stories to life is _that_ life," he explained, confusing Clara further than she already was, "and life has to _come_ from somewhere" -

\- "It needs a power source to feed the magic?" Jacob said, becoming distracted by a walking tree. "Wouldn't I like to sink my axe into _that_ ," he said, letting out a low whistle.

" _Concentrate_ , Stone," Jenkins admonished, wringing his hands together, "and stop trying to eat toddlers," he fired at Clara, making her gnash her fangs at him. "As we were saying, the people who feed the story," he said, wincing at his choice of words, shooting Clara another warning glance, "grow weak, they get sick, and they die. This little girl might just be that power source, and wherever she is, the Libris Fabula won't be far."

"In here," Clara hissed, clawing at the air. Jacob and Jenkins filed into the room first, Clara prowling at their heels, brandishing her broomstick at the ventilator. The little girl lay fast asleep, her fingers clutching Clara's coin, whilst an old man sitting in an armchair by the window read aloud from a battered looking book, its bindings ancient and worn; a book Jenkins instantly lunged for, the old man raising his wrinkled hand, sending Jenkins flying across the room. Before Jacob could react, he too was airborne, crashing into the wall, knocked out cold.

"And now you," the old man said with a smile to Clara, flipping his hand dismissively at her, only for Clara to halt his spell with a wave of her own hand, startling him. "Oh, this is interesting," he said, sitting up straighter, looking intrigued against his will, "since you can't use the magic against itself" -

\- "Her magic is older than time itself," Jenkins said, staggering to his feet, "and more powerful than the Libris Fabula could ever be" -

\- "Really?" the old man said, tilting his head to the side. "How interesting." With a swift snap of the fingers, he sent a wave of blue fire straight at Clara's throat, only for her eyes to flicker violet, her hands shooting out and grabbing the line of fire like a rope, making it writhe like a snake between her fingers. Before the old man could react, it was around his neck, all but choking him, his eyes bulging behind his glasses.

"Where did you get the book?" Clara hissed, advancing on him, feeling the storm stirring awake inside her, alien and yet akin to her. As Jenkins had said, the magic wasn't of the Libris Fabula, but from within Clara, deep-seated within the darkest depths of her soul. The Libris Fabula had unlocked Clara's true identity, magic burning through her veins like violet fire, almost turning her true self into ash.

"It's part of a collection of rare books left to Bremen's Library" -

Clara tightened the rope of fire, cutting him off, almost quite literally.

"Clara, don't!" Jenkins cried, stepping forwards, making her hesitate. As she did, the old man seized his chance, reaching into the Libris Fabula, gathering the heart of its power in his hands, before aiming it at Clara. ending it once and for all. But as he did, the coin fell from the little girl's fingers, rolling across the floor to Clara, who spun up it up into the air, making it deflect the shard of light, splintering it into a starburst, striking everything all at once, Clara shoving Jenkins out of the way, the beams of light just missing Jacob and the little girl, before piercing the old man through the heart, causing him to fragment into a thousand pieces.

For a moment, there was just silence, and then the Libris Fabula suddenly slammed shut, the bang echoing around the room. Clara staggered to her feet, pushing the hair out of her eyes, feeling like she had fallen a thousand feet. As Jacob and the little girl stirred, she stumbled over to the armchair, ignoring the Libris Fabula before leaning over and picking up the old man's spectacles. "Who was _he?_ " she rasped, turning to Jenkins.

"A fool," Jenkins said dourly, dusting down his suit.


	9. Team Jenkins

**Team Jenkins**

 _We live in cities you'll never see on screen_ _  
_ _Not very pretty, but we sure know how to run things_ _  
_ _Living in ruins of a palace within my dreams_ _  
_ _And you know, we're on each other's team…_

Blowing Clara one last kiss, Flynn finally took his leave, striding through the back door, his broad shoulders hunching, heart breaking behind his bluster. With a flash of blinding white, he was gone as if he had never been. Clara exhaled sharply, before turning away from the back door, hating the sight of it. It always came to this, Flynn leaving, Clara being left behind, the architect of her own despair, sending him away when he said he would stay.

"I know all about his detours to your doorstep by the way," Jenkins said, locking away the Libris Fabula, "nothing gets past me, and I mean _nothing_." He'd collected the rest of the books donated to Bremen by Thomson Dieter, who had been a connoisseur of rare books and manuscripts, Jenkins armed with the intention of cataloguing them himself, separating the dangerous from the delightful, promising himself a long evening with a fifteenth century folio he'd spied in the pile, perusing its pages whilst sipping a cup of Earl Grey in front of a roaring fire.

"Windowsill actually," Clara corrected him, Jacob saluting her as he strode past the doorway, Clara tipping an imaginary hat in return.

"Whatever," Jenkins said, clearing away some crystal balls.

Clara raised an eyebrow, folding her arms across her chest.

"You're distracting Flynn from finding the Library," Jenkins said, folding up a lace tablecloth, "and that I cannot tolerate."

"You won't tolerate it!?" Clara said incredulously. "Flynn is forty one, not four years old. He doesn't need your approval or disapproval" -

\- "And the world doesn't need him warming your bed when he should be doing his work," Jenkins said coldly, making Clara pale. "You should have stuck with Stone, Clara. For all his faults, at least he's here and not in the hereafter."

"I don't want Jacob," Clara spat.

"And I don't want history repeating itself," Jenkins retorted, thinking of the rule of three, Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot. All the components for disaster in the Annex were there; the king, the queen and the loyal knight, the wildcard running off with another man's wife.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Clara said, shaking her head at him, "but if mumbling makes you happy, go ahead, be my guest."

"I do not _mumble_."

"Yes, you do."

"I don't."

"You _do_."

"You know, I miss your warts," Jenkins said, tilting his head to the side. "They gave you a picturesque air."

"I bet you wish you'd taken a picture for posterity," Clara parried.

"You would have broken the camera," Jenkins said dourly.

"Beauty like this cannot be contained," Clara said, doing a twirl.

"No it can't," Jenkins said quietly, remembering Guinevere, the coming storm. He'd thought he'd won, but he hadn't, setting the stage for his own downfall, but it had been done out of love, a son's love for a woman who wasn't his mother. Yes, the storm was coming, and he would have to meet it head on, reaping the whirlwind he'd sown.

 _ **The End**_

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone that read, reviewed, followed and favourited this story, particularly **Crystal-Wolf-Guardain-967**. The sequel, _Reap The Whirlwind,_ can be found under the 'My Stories' section of my profile.


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